


Someone else

by The_Freedom_Roadblocks



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Pining!Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:06:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2889620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Freedom_Roadblocks/pseuds/The_Freedom_Roadblocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Grantaire has a date and Enjolras pines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART 1

**Author's Note:**

> im-alittle-stuck fragte: #13. 8D
> 
> 13\. Helped you pick out clothes to wear on a date with someone else AU
> 
> Just transferring this over from my Tumblr

"Joly, can you give a hand for a moment?" Grantaire’s voice echoed down the hallway. "Joooollllyy?"

"Joly isn’t here," Enjolras yelled back. He straightened up and groaned as he stretched the kinks out of his back. "What’s the problem?"

"Is that Enjolras?" Grantaire’s voice wavered. Enjolras huffed and craned his neck to the side so he could peer down the corridor. Grantaire poked his head around his bedroom door. His dark hair flopped over his forehead.

"Yes?"

"Where is Joly?" asked Grantaire.

"He went to the supermarket?" replied Enjolras, settling back in his chair. "Fifteen minutes ago actually."

"Can you get Feuilly then? Please tell me Feuilly is home."

"Feuilly isn’t home yet," Enjolras cracked his knuckles. "I’m waiting to go over an article with him."

Grantaire groaned and slammed his door. Enjolras shook his head and looked down at the screen of his laptop. He read a few lines of the article before his eyes glazed over. He minimised the page and pulled up Feuilly’s Instagram instead. At the top of the page there was a photo of Lafayette, Feuilly’s monstrous, grey Maine Coon, curled up on Grantaire’s chest as he napped in the sun. The cat dwarfed Grantaire, its paws hanging off the couch and its tail flopped over Grantaire’s face; it couldn’t be a comfortable position. With a frown, Enjolras glanced between the photo and where Lafayette was currently snoring on the couch. It only proved to him that Feuilly was an amazing photographer to be able to make that cat look cute.

"Enjolras?" Grantaire’s voice rang out through the apartment.

Enjolras looked up again. “Yes, Grantaire?”

"Can you come help me for a moment?" yelled Grantaire. "I really need someone’s help."

"I suppose…" Enjolras shut his laptop and stood up. He met Grantaire at the door to his room. He had it open only a crack so all Enjolras could see was Grantaire’s face and a slither of his surprisingly tidy bedroom. Perhaps, by chance, it was the only tidy slither of Grantaire’s room and the rest looked like a bomb had exploded. Maybe that was why Grantaire was still blocking his way in.

"What’s up?" He asked, trying to peer subtly around Grantaire. Grantaire shifted so he was blocking Enjolras’ view of the room with his body. Enjolras looked back at his face and frowned. Grantaire looked different but he could place it…

"You shaved!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, I want to look nice," said Grantaire self-consciously.

"So you shaved?" asked Enjolras, raising his eyebrows. He’d always found Grantaire’s layer of stubble quite endearing.

"Okay, please leave your harsh judgements on that side of the door," Grantaire said, rubbing his chin. "But I really need your opinion on my clothes."

"Your clothes…." Enjolras repeated. "Why?"

"Look, just come in," Grantaire swung the door open. "But try to look les… judgey.”

"I don’t…" Enjolras shook his head. He stepped into Grantaire’s bedroom and looked around. It wasn’t as horrifying as he’d suspected but tiny bit he’d seen had been the tidiest. There were battered second hand paperbacks over flowing out of the book self and stacked up along the walls. He had crumpled paper spilling off his desk and exercise books spread over the floor. On his desk rested a canvas next to a glass of dirty water and jar of paint brushes. Tubes of paint were sticking out of a cardboard box on top of his MacBook and there was a pile of colourful rags dangling over the window sill.

Half of Grantaire’s wardrobe lay haphazardly strewn over the bed. Grantaire was standing in front of a mirror, smoothing down his tartan shirt.

"I have a date," he said without turning a round. "And I want to look nice."

Enjolras smiled and behind his back he dug his fingernails into his palms.

"A date?" he said, gritting his teeth. "Don’t you have dates every week? Why do you need to look good for this one in particular?"

"This one is important," explained Grantaire. "She’s from my art class. We’ve been friends since the start of last year and it’s the first date that—well—it could go somewhere. I want to look nice. Like, I put in an effort but still casual, you know?"

Enjolras folded his arms over his chest. “Then at least get rid of that shirt if you don’t want to look like her grandfather.”

"This is a nice shirt," Grantaire protested.

"Yes, for old men," Enjolras walked over to the bed and picked up a blue t-shirt from the top of the pile. Grantaire had worn it about two weeks. Enjolras remembered because they had been arguing about stereotyping that night. They were all at Courfeyrac’s for some reason and Grantaire had spent twenty minutes quoting studies at him that provided evidence that stereotyping was adaptive for the human race. Enjolras hadn’t disagreed with him: “It might have been adaptive hundreds of thousands of years ago,” he had argued. “But it’s certainly problematic in modern society.” “Well actually…” Grantaire had continued and Enjolras considered bashing his head against the wall. Feeling a similar tide of irritation rising, Enjolras threw the blue t-shirt at Grantaire’s face.

"Wear that. It’s surprising flattering on you even if it does say ‘punk rebel’ on it, above a skull wearing a bandana and sunglasses."

"Thanks." Grantaire smiled shyly.

"And those maroon skinny jeans you wore yesterday," continued Enjolras. "They’ll make you look half decent at least. And lose the beanie. That thing is horrible."

"Okay, but the beanie is beautiful and you just hurt her feelings." Grantaire stared at Enjolras expectantly. After a long pause he added. "So are you just going to stand there and watch me change?"

Enjolras’ eyes widened. “Um, no, right, I’ll just—”He stepped out of the room quickly and pulled the door ajar behind him. He could hear Grantaire hum to himself as he changed. Very quietly, so as not to alert Grantaire, he banged his forehead against the wall. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he hissed under his breath.

On the other side of the door Grantaire said, “hey, this actually does look pretty good. But do you think that the jeans are too tight? Does it look like I’m trying to seduce her?”  
Enjolras slid back into the room.

"But isn’t that the ultimate plan?" he asked, glaring at the wall behind Grantaire. "To ‘seduce’ her? And no, they are not too tight, they just—" he waved his hands, trying to articulate ‘emphasise you assets’ without it sounding like a marketing lecture.

Grantaire nodded, seeming to understand. “And I’ll wear my grey jacket on top.”

"Yeah," Enjolras’ throat felt tight. "She’ll like that."

"She’s gorgeous. You’ll love her. She’s read all that political bullshit you love and she’s seen Star Wars and likes all the right bits. She’s perfect. Did I tell you her name? It’s just as pretty, it’s Floreal. How cute."

"Cute," echoed Enjolras. "You know, maybe those jeans are too tight."

"Nah, I think you picked out a really good outfit, thanks," he clapped a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. "Man, I’m nervous.”

"Well, it might go horribly wrong?" Enjolras eyed Grantaire’s hand on his shoulder, just resting there. Just resting there on his shoulder.

"Wow, that’s comforting." Grantaire’s eyebrows drew together. "Thanks."

"When is this date?"

"At 5… so I should have left 5 minutes ago, shit."

"Oh well," Enjolras stepped forward and plucked Grantaire’s beanie off his head. "Just for the love of god don’t wear this. Here—" he ran his fingers through Grantaire’s curls, fluffing them up. "It looks better like this—hm."

He brushed some hair away from his forehead. “There you go.”

Grantaire was staring up at him with his lips parted. His brown eyes were dark and flickered over Enjolras’ face as he drew back. Enjolras felt his cheeks heat up.

"You better go then," he said, turning away.

"Yeah," agreed Grantaire. Enjolras followed him to the front door.

Grantaire turned around. “Um, Enjolras?”

"Yes?" He didn’t sound hopeful at all…

"I—uh—never mind…" Grantaire shook his head.

"So, have good date!" Enjolras’ fists were clenched outside Grantaire’s line of sight. "She’ll love you—or moderately like you since you shouldn’t rush into anything—you know what I mean."

Grantaire laughed, “Thanks.”

When he was gone and Enjolras was sitting back in front of his laptop, he opened up the photo of Grantaire and Lafayette again. The picture, looking at Grantaire’s sleeping face, made his fingers tingle. He closed his eyes, breathed out and let his head smack against the table.


	2. PART 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire gets all 'couply' and Enjolras wishes that it was with him.

At 10pm Enjolras and Feuilly had finished going over the article. Feuilly was sitting on the couch with Lafayette’s head in his lap, scratching the cat under its chin. Enjolras paced up and down the living room, unable to sit still, his mind spinning in circles that aways ended up back to Grantaire. He’d always suspected Grantaire had a crush on him; he’d stayed up late in bed trying to imagine various scenarios where Grantaire asked him out and whether he’d say no or—well it didn’t matter anymore. He was wrong about Grantaire. All those time he’d thought he’d caught Grantaire staring at him, all those time he’d just been mistaken. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes tight shut. It wasn’t like he’d lost anything, Grantaire had never been his, but knowing that didn’t soothe the ache in his chest.

"So, are you planning on going home?" Feuilly asked. Enjolras’ head snapped up. "Not that you’re not welcome to stay over but you seem upset?"

Enjolras sank onto the couch next to Lafayette. “I’m just a little distracted.”

"Want to talk about it?" Feuilly asked, leaning over to squeeze Enjolras’ arm.

"I don’t really know what to say," admitted Enjolras. "This is kind of a new thing for me."

"Can I help?" Feuilly started rubbing circles into his back and Enjolras felt the leak from his shoulders.

"I don’t think so,” he said and tentatively ran his hand along Lafayette’s spine. That cat didn’t to mind, which encouraged him to press a little firmer into its fur. "It’s—well, it’s personal."

Feuilly smiled kindly, “How about I make us some cocoa then? And we can watch something until you feel like sleeping.”

"You’re a good friend Feuilly." Enjolras ruffled his hair. "You really are."

"Here—take him," Feuilly lifted Lafayette with visible effort and pushed him into Enjolras’ arms. "Come on Enjolras, he’s not a biter."

"No—" Enjolras tried to wriggle away from the cat in his lap. "It will scratch me."

"Lafayette is a sweet cat, just rub his chin or behind his ears."

Enjolras carefully stroked Lafayette as Feuilly clattered around in the kitchen. After a while the cat started purring, its body vibrating against Enjolras and his eyelids drooped sleepily. When Feuilly passed him a mug of cocoa ten minutes later he was already half asleep.

"I’ll get you some blankets," Feuilly told him. It wasn’t long before he was curled up on the couch hugging Lafayette’s warm fur to his chest, drifting off. At some point after midnight he was woken up by Lafayette tapping his face with paw. Annoyed, Enjolras shoved the cat of the couch and received a hiss of reproach in return. He was wide awake now so he stood up and got himself a glass of water, bare feet padding over the cold tiled floor.

He was leaning against the kitchen bench contemplating going back to sleep when he heard the front door open. Into the apartment stumbled a drowsy Grantaire, one hand in front of him to catch himself on the back of the couch. As he blinked through the darkness he looked up and locked eyes with Enjolras.

His mouth fell open, “Am I asleep?”

"No, I don’t believe so," replied Enjolras. Just the sight of Grantaire was making in heart beat faster, faster in way he was sure it hadn’t before. "How was your date?"

Grantaire rubbed a hand over his face. “It was… it was good, I guess. She’s a great friend and I really think we can make something work if we try.”

"You don’t sound sure," said Enjolras, a flicker of hope blossoming in his chest.

Grantaire smiled with flat eyes. “Is anyone sure in this crazy world?”

Enjolras took a step forward. “Look, if you don’t think she’s right for you then you can… I mean I am—”

"Enjolras—stop." Grantaire cut him off.

"Just listen," he insisted but Grantaire just shook his head and walked away.

"Grantaire wait!" Grantaire didn’t reply. Enjolras followed him down the hallway. "Seriously, ‘Aire I want to talk to you—for goodness sake—can you just talk to me? What’s wrong?"  
"There is nothing wrong, I’m fine, we’re fine," Grantaire turned to face him in the doorway to his room with his arms folded over his chest. "Good night, see you in the morning."  
Enjolras watched the door click shut in his face. Behind him Feuilly poked his head out of his room.

"What’s going on?"

"’Aire’s mad at me."

Feuilly offered him a kind smile. “Talk to him in the morning.”

~

Enjolras ended up avoiding Grantaire instead. He had thought that he would break up with his new girlfriend before the month was out, but come May Grantaire and Floréal were still going strong. Enjolras thought that he might be happy for them, if Grantaire would stop being so publicly in love with her.

All Grantaire did was rub salt into the wound. He texted her all through meetings; One Thursday night as Enjolras outlined a letter writing campaign he was planning his pauses were all punctuated by the incessant tap-tap-tap of Grantaire’s ancient brick phone. When Combeferre stood up to talk about the letter content, he sat down beside Grantaire and, in an uncharacteristic fit of temper, snatched the phone out of his hands.

“Hey!” cried Grantaire. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I get the feeling you would rather be with your girlfriend than at our meetings,” snapped Enjolras. “And for goodness sake get a new phone!”

“Wow, not all of us can afford to buy a new iPhone every time a new version comes out—let alone get up at five in the morning to cue…”

“I don’t—“began Enjolras. He was about to pass the phone back to Grantaire when he caught sight of the text typed out on the screen.

Enjolras is droning on again. You should hear the shit that comes out of his mouth. Miss you too.

He stood up abruptly and dropped the phone into Grantaire’s lap. His cheeks felt like they were burning.

“Well, this was nice,” he said stiffly. “Don’t let my droning distract you from your girlfriend.”

Grantaire open his mouth to protest but Enjolras was already gone.

~

A Friday soon after, they had a social night; an occasion where they all gathered at Bahorel’s apartment to drink and make merry. Enjolras was squished on the couch between Courfeyrac and Jehan, listening to a story he was not part of about an event he’d never heard of. Grantaire came wobbling by and Enjolras interrupted Jehan mid-sentence to call out to him.

“Come sit,” he said, patting the thin slither of space between him and Courfeyrac. “Join us.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow imbued with scepticism but sat down done the less. 

“No, R no!” Jehan shrieked as he was smushed against the arm rest. Grantaire wriggled around until he was sprawled over Courfeyrac’s lap, his legs draped over Enjolras’. One of his ankles was exposed where the pant leg had ridden up and his baby-blue socks had been pushed down. Succumbing to temptation, Enjolras swiped his thumb gently over the bone, pressing against a blue vein that was raised against his skin. He turned his head and caught Grantaire’s eye. Their gazes locked and Enjolras’ heart trebled its pace. It was as though the further Grantaire slipped away from him, the more desperately Enjolras wanted to hold on. It was as though he was in… in…

“Um…” wheezed Jehan. “R, your foot is poking me in an awkward place.”

Grantaire tore his gaze away and his following laughter sounded hollow to Enjolras’ ears.

“We look like a human sandwich. Let’s take a photo,” announced Grantaire then added. “To send to Floréal.”

Enjolras’ heart sunk.

~

That night Grantaire was too drunk to get home. Just before Enjolras left, he sat down beside Grantaire on the couch and stroked back his hair. Grantaire snored loudly in response. Enjolras’ eyebrows drew together and he fetched a glass of water to place beside the couch, so Grantaire could drink it when he woke. He lent down and tucked the blanket over Grantaire’s feet and in at the sides, cocooning him in warmth.

“I love you,” he whispered before he walked out the door.

~

Some weeks later they attended a charity ball. Grantaire brought Floréal for them all to meet. She was small, dark and pretty; she laughed and ruffled Grantaire’s hair playfully. They smiled at each other like they were sharing something secret and snickered at each other’s bad jokes. There was no reason to hate her but Enjolras couldn’t force his smiles to meet his eyes.

When the champagne made its rounds Enjolras gulped down his glass with relish. Grantaire, on the other hand, smiled politely and waved it away.  
“I’m cutting back,” he told them. “Floréal and I made a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” Courfeyrac grinned suggestively and Grantaire and Floréal shared one of their special looks.

~

Later he caught them, lost on his way back from the bathroom, stowed away in an empty room together. Their hands in each other’s hair, bodies pressed together, lips on lips, on and on… Enjolras crept away silently. What had that girl done that he hadn’t, to deserve this side of Grantaire?

~

He might have drunken one too many glasses of champagne, judging by the way the floor kept lurching under his feet. Something was chewing at him from the inside out. He burst out onto the balcony and lead over the railings, convinced he was about to throw up everything down to his organs. Jealousy was like a fat worm, wriggling in his chest. Jealousy was like a humid day, sticky and smothering, unrelenting and inescapable. Jealousy was an emotion he wished he could purge from his body. It trapped him, tore at him, he wanted to scream and cry but no sound came out… he wanted to—

"Enjolras?"

He looked over his shoulder and saw Jehan outlined in the doorway.

"I am drunker than I anticipated," revealed Enjolras, stumbling away from the railing. "It is quite unusual."

Jehan laughed, “Yes, yes you are,” he came a bit closer, angling to support Enjolras as he tripped over his own feet, but then hesitated, peering up into his face. “Are you okay Enjolras?”

"No I’m not."

"What has happened?" Jehan asked, placing a hand on his back.

"This is a secret Jehan," Enjolras told him. "Absolutely no one can know… but I love Grantaire, and I need him to love me back."

"Oh sweetie," Jehan patted his head. "Sit down—here, on this bench."

"It is horrible."

"I know," Jehan sat down beside him. "But you have to understand R is the happiest I have ever seen him now he’s with Floréal. They are so good for each other. Would you take that away from him?"

Enjolras buried his face in his hands. “Please leave me.”

"I’m sorry Enjolras; I know it hurts, just, please think before you do or say anything…"

"Just go, Jehan," repeated Enjolras. "I need to be alone."

That night, for the first time since he was nine, he cried himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ANGST! All of the angst!
> 
> I feel a tiny bit bad for using Floreal just as ‘the girlfriend’, but i wanted the dynamic she brings, a threatening romantic partner who makes R happy etc. rather than a random OC. idk.


	3. PART 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras’ night didn’t go quite how he remembered it…

Enjolras woke up hungover.

His head was pounding and nausea pooled in his stomach. He turned over a few times before he dragged himself out of bed with a groan, wrapping the sheets around him in a messy cocoon. The bathroom tiles were cold on his bare feet and from his reflection in the mirror he saw that bags were strung from his eyes in red and purple lines; Eyes sore from dried tears and heavy with exhaustion. His hair stuck up on one side and hung limp down the other. His lips drooped and his brows were pinched in pain.

It was a Sunday… he could go back to bed and sleep the hangover off and no one would have to see him, he thought as he padded it the kitchen.

He was halfway through making a cup of tea when he realised he wasn’t alone.

Something was moving. Someone was in the living room… Enjolras turned and saw a human shaped lump of blankets slowly sitting up. He watched in amazement at the blankets slipped down over a man’s head, revealing a mass of dark curls that he instantly recognised.

“Grantaire?” He whispered in amazement. “Is that you?”

It was highly possible that Enjolras wasn’t where he thought he was, since clearly the events of last hadn’t gone quite as he remembered them. Enjolras glanced around him to establish that he was actually in his own apartment. Everything was where he remembered it, except for the man on the couch—Grantaire—who was blinking up at Enjolras sleepily.

"I’m actually Madonna," admitted Grantaire. "But in disguise."

Enjolras squinted in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Grantaire frowned. “You let me in?”

"When?" He remembered doing no such thing.

"Ah," Grantaire ran a hand through his hair. "Last night? Before you passed out and I carried you to bed."

"No…no, that didn’t happen," protested Enjorlas but as slow as treacle memories from last night were drifting back. He remembered being nestled in Grantaire’s arms; head, arms and legs all sprawled out like a puppet that’d had its strings cut. Without Grantaire’s physical presence in his apartment this morning he would have sworn it was a dream. The thought—the memory—of last night…

He looked away from Grantaire’s eyes. He was been crying all last night. Had Grantaire witnessed that too?

"Look, I can promise never to speak of it again, if that makes you feel better?" suggested Grantaire as he stood up and stretched. "Nothing happened, nothing at all. You didn’t fall asleep while I patted your hair, nope, definitely not."

Enjolras’ face heated up. He remembered vaguely Grantaire’s hands in his hair and his voice whispering to him that it would be okay, okay, okay. Like a song on repeat, it had been steady and comforting as he cried. Grantaire didn’t even know that he was the cause of Enjolras’ heartache.

"I don’t remember much," Enjolras said quickly and he hurried back into the kitchen. He abandoned the tea in favour of making Combeferre’s famous morning-after-smoothie. He was chopping lemon and ginger when Grantaire appeared beside him and took the knife out of his hand.

"You’ll break the board if you chop so violently," Grantaire was standing right behind him, his breath was warm on his neck. "I’ll make it. Just tell me what to do."  
Enjolras let him take over. He collapsed on a stool and massaged his temples as he directed Grantaire through the smoothie making process. Lemon, ginger, kale, blueberries, mango and orange juice. Combeferre had made that recipe for him the last and only time he’d ever had a handover before, the night after their group had been awarded a grant to start up an anti-racism campaign.

“So what happened last night? Why were you in my apartment?” Enjolras asked Grantaire as he cut the mango.

“Well,” Grantaire stroked his stubbly chin. “You were missing a little after Bahoral did this thing with the champagne glasses and we were all certain you were going to yell at him for it. But then you didn’t burst in yelling and Courfeyrac started getting worried and—well, anyway, long story short I found you outside the backdoor to the kitchen with a bottle of wine in your hand looking like a kicked puppy. Combeferre had to get to an early meeting tomorrow so he had already left and Courfeyrac had to look after Jehan so I called us a cab and brought you home.” He shrugged. “I hope you don’t mind that I slept on the couch. I was worried about you but I’ll go as soon as I—“

“Grantaire,” Enjolras cut him off. “Thanks for staying with me,” He shifted on the stool awkwardly. “But where’s Floréal? Was she okay with you staying the night here.”  
"It was none of her business," replied Grantaire briskly.

"But…" insisted Enjolras. "You two seemed pretty cosy last night? Are you sure she’s okay with you being here?"

Grantaire laughed and switched on the blender. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”

"What?" Enjolras’ head was already pounding and the sudden sound of the blender seared through his ears. "Shut that stupid thing off! You have to tell her you’re here."

"Your smoothie’s going have chunks in it," Grantaire warned. "And, no, I really don’t."

"She’s your girlfriend!"

Grantaire handed Enjolras the smoothie then scrubbed a hand over his face. “I didn’t want to tell you… but, Floréal and I, we broke up three weeks ago.” Enjolras gaped at him. “We didn’t want to tell anyone just yet, so we pretended to still be together. I mean, we broke up on really good terms, we both—we both liked other people. And it was easier to pretend since we had all these plus one events coming up—”

"You broke up three weeks ago?" Enjolras put his head in his hands. "God, I’m too hung over for this…"

"Look Enjolras—"

"—And you did it just so you would be awkward at a few fancy events? Are you an idiot?"

"Well, that wasn’t the whole reason…" Grantaire looked away awkwardly.

"What was the whole reason?" Enjolras demanded.

"I don’t want to say it. Can you just forget it? I’m sorry for not telling you sooner."

"No, tell me Grantaire!" Enjolras’ heart was pounding.

"We may have pretended to date after we broke up… to make you jealous," Grantaire’s ears were bright red. "It was Floréal’s idea. I said it wouldn’t work but she thought that you might—well it doesn’t matter—I’m so so sorry. I really am. I’m sorry."

Enjolras turned his face back into his hands. “Didn’t occur to you that If I was going to be jealous of you two dating I would have been jealous when you started dating ages ago. That you just decided to torture me for three more weeks? Such a brilliant plan!”

"Enjolras, I’m so sorry, but for fuck’s sake—“

"Get out," Enjolras’ eyes prickled. He was too scared to look at Grantaire’s face. "Just get out!"

"God," Grantaire whispered. Enjolras heard his footsteps in the hall way and the sound of the front door opening. Grantaire was really leaving.

"Wait," he cried springing to his feet. He caught Grantaire halfway out the front door. In the hallway outside one of his neighbours was locking his door. He peered around Grantaire and into Enjolras’ flat, curious about the commotion.

"Get back in," hissed Enjolras, tugging Grantaire back by his shirt sleeve. He slammed the door shut then winced at the noise. "You wanted to make me jealous?"

"It was a stupid idea," Grantaire looked at his feet.

"But why did you do it?"

"Please don’t make me say it."

"Grantaire!"

"I love you, okay!" cried Grantaire, waving his hands in emphasis. "That’s why it didn’t work out with Floréal, that’s why we lied to everyone after we broke up. I love you! I get that you—heck you don’t even like me much. And this is the last thing you want to hear when you’re sad and hungover, but sweet mother Theresa you’re the most beautiful person to walk this earth and no plan I could ever come up with could trick you into seeing me as half as worthy—"

“Grantaire,” Enjolras cut him off. “The stupid planned worked,” He cleared his throat. “I may have acquired some feelings for you, feelings of the romantic variety.”  
Grantaire’s jaw dropped. “Are you joking? Is this an elaborate prank?”

Enjolras blinked, “What, no. I’m serious. I think I love you.” He reached out to pull Grantaire into an embrace. “Just, please never try to make me jealous again.”  
At his touch Grantaire make a high pitched sound, like a squeaky toy having the air forced out of it too quickly. “What are you doing?” he wheezed.  
“Is this not okay?” Enjolras asked, pulling back. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“No, this is very okay,” said Grantaire. He wrapped Enjolras up in his arms, burrowing his head into Enjolras’ neck. “God, I love you,” he murmured, his voice muffled. “How is this possible?”

Enjolras brought his hand up to stroke Grantaire’s hair. “I don’t know. But it is.”

A sudden knocking on the front door made them both spring apart in fashion that might have been comic if Enjolras wasn’t clutching his head in pain. Grantaire made a face and pulled the door open. On the other side stood Enjolras’ disgruntled neighbour, hand still poised to knock.

“Ah hello…?” the man said. He had mousy brown hair and his face was dusted with freckles. “M—my name is Marius? I just moved him, like, last week. I thought I’d just check everything is okay? You were shouting and well…”

“Everything is okay,” Grantaire confirmed. He turned and smiled shyly at Enjolras. “Everything will be okay.”

“Ah, I see,” Marius nodded. “Well, I’ll just go?”

“See you around,” Grantaire swung the door shut.

“Where were we?” Enjolras inquired weakly.

“I think you need to sit down,” Grantaire placed a hand on his back.

“Yeah,” agreed Enjolras. He looked up and got caught in Grantaire’s gaze, staring at his eyes, his face, his lips…  
Grantaire leaned in.

“Can I?” he whispered. His thumb stroked Enjolras’ lower lip.

“Please.”

Their lips touched and Enjolras forgot about the pain in his head and the months of jealousy. He only thought about Grantaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun. I apologise for any mistakes and I appreciate feedback. Don’t think that Enjolras has forgiven R for the weeks of deceit, there will be pay back later.   
> Disclaimer: I do not condone the use of lies and deceit in and/or in anticipation of a relationship unless it involves puppies and surprise parties.   
> Come hit me up at Scathiee.tumblr.com


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